


Forgiveness Earned

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Punishment & BSDM Related [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Belting, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Corporal Punishment, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Spanking, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, dandelion is a glutton for punishment, geralt is a softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Geralt is hungry and forgiving.Dandelion is hungry and apologetic.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Punishment & BSDM Related [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624297
Comments: 21
Kudos: 486





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I loved the bit in Sword of Destiny where Dandelion basically caused Geralt to lose all his money, and they were basically starving for a bit, so here, have sad apologetic Dandelion.

“It’s all my fault,” moaned Dandelion, not for the first time. “I’m to blame for it all - Geralt, are you terribly angry with me?”

“No, Dandelion, I’m not angry with you.” It would be impossible to be angry with the troubadour, not when he was looking so sorry for himself, biting at his lip and not even plucking his lute’s strings.

Geralt had - for once - managed to line up several potential contracts in a town, but then Dandelion had been caught in bed with the mayor’s daughter, and they’d been forced to flee. Then they’d found themselves on a long road with nothing to eat, and no contracts.

Dandelion had managed to pawn off a gold ring, but even the funds from that had run out. Geralt didn’t mind being hungry, but his friend clearly wasn’t taking it well. Even the plume on his feathered hat seemed more droopy than usual.

“If you’re certain,” he mumbled.

“I am.”

They stopped and made camp, Geralt heading off to hunt while Dandelion was meant to be making a fire. Luck was on his side, and he caught a fat rabbit, which he carried back to camp.

Dandelion was standing next to a roaring fire, a basket clutched under his arm.

“I found us something to eat!” Dandelion said brightly. The bard beamed at him and held out the basket, filled to the brim with berries.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Have you eaten any?”

“Well, no, I was saving them for you- to ah, apologize-”

“They’re poisonous.” 

Geralt dropped the rabbit he’d caught on the ground by the fire, sitting beside it and setting about skinning it. Behind him, Dandelion was still unnervingly quiet.

“What?” the Witcher asked.

“I’m just- Geralt, do you ever think your life would be better if I wasn’t in it? I always seem to be dragging you into trouble and-”

“Dandelion, if I didn’t want you in my life, you wouldn’t be here. So since you’re here, what can you infer from that?”

“So you’re not angry?”

He was going to become angry if Dandelion didn’t stop with his ridiculous moaning and self-pity. “No, I’m not.”

“Perhaps you should be.”

The Witcher stopped. “Dandelion,” he asked sharply, “What is it you want?”

“I just - oh Geralt- I just feel terrible!”

He glared at the bard over his shoulder, effectively silencing him. Then he finished with the rabbit, putting it on the spit over the fire.

Geralt stood, brushing off his pants and rolling his shoulders. There was at least one way he could think of to snap the bard out of his melancholy - other than food - and if that didn’t work, he might just try gagging him.

He grabbed Dandelion and jerked him to his feet, pulling him across the clearing. “Geralt! Ah! What are you-”

 _Letting you earn my forgiveness so you can live with yourself,_ he thought. If that was what his friend wanted - no, needed - then he would provide it. “Remind me what they did to you at Temple School? Tell me again me, was it a cane or a switch?”

“A cane- Geralt, you don’t have a cane- at least I don’t think you do-”

“No, bard, I don’t have a cane, but I’ve plenty of branches to use as a switch if I please, or my own belt.” He let go of Dandelion’s arm, giving the poet plenty of time to run, if that was what he wanted. But Dandelion stayed, looking at Geralt expectantly. “Lower your pants, bend over that log, and - for gods’ sake - take off that ridiculous hat.”

Geralt took off his belt as Dandelion did as he ordered, bending himself over the log and exposing his bare skin. He folded the belt in half, and - without warning the bard - cracked it over his ass.

“Ow!”

“You earned this, Dandelion,” he said, not really meaning it. “First you cost me my coin, then try to feed us both poisoned berries.”

“I’m terribly - AH - sorry!” Geralt had struck him again, mid-sentence, but true to form, Dandelion managed to keep talking.

“Not as sorry as you will be.” The next strike pulled a loud wail from the bard and a wince from Geralt, who was already pitying his own ears.

“Geralt!”

“Pipe down, Dandelion!”

The bard sniffled and clutched the log.

Geralt didn’t count the number of strikes, instead whipping him from his thighs to his ass until the skin was bright red and Dandelion was still, no longer protesting or trying to apologize.

Then he stopped and looped his belt back around his waist.

Dandelion was trembling, flopped over the log and no longer holding himself up with his own strength. Geralt sat on the log beside him, rubbing his back absently as he composed himself. The troubadour hiccuped and moaned, gasping for breath, but he leaned into the Witcher’s touch.

Finally, Geralt stood, and drew his friend to his feet, helping him to step back into his trousers.

He helped Dandelion back to the fire, keeping an arm around him to support him as the troubadour’s legs trembled. “You know what, Geralt?”

“What Dandelion?”

“I always forget that you’re quite a bit stronger than my teachers at school.”

Geralt chuckled softly, helping him to kneel by the fire.

“I- oh Geralt, I am very sorry-”

“I know, Dandelion,” he promised, cupping his friend’s face, rubbing his thumb over his cheek. "I know." 

Fresh tears glittered in the troubadour’s eyes, tears not caused by the lashing. “You’re too kind to me, Geralt.”

Geralt sat by the fire, pulling Dandelion to rest in his arms, still trembling slightly. “Hush now, Dandelion,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “The food will be finished soon, and everything will seem better when you’ve something on your stomach.”

“Oh, I hope it will.”

Geralt stroked Dandelion’s mussed hair as they waited, finally breaking off one of the legs when it seemed to be done, handing it to Dandelion.

“Oh, no,” began the bard, trying to pass the food back, but Geralt shook his head.

“I won’t eat until you do,” he said. “There’s plenty of meat on that creature, and I won’t mind waiting.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.”


	2. Chapter 2

He awoke to Dandelion’s head on his chest.

He couldn’t remember when the bard had decided to turn him into a pillow, but he said nothing, running his hand through the troubadour’s tangled curls, electing a soft sigh.

“Good morning, Dandelion.” 

Dandelion lifted his head, blinked at Geralt, then yawned. “My ass hurts too much for it to be a good morning,” he said.

Geralt grinned, letting his eyes drift shut. “You were the one who wouldn’t stop whining,” he reminded him.

“Yes, but did you have to hit me so hard?” Dandelion shifted closer, nuzzling his head into Geralt’s shoulder. “You should rub my back,” he said sleepily.

“Oh?” Geralt grinned. “Is that a euphemism, my dear poet?”

“No,” Dandelion replied. “Because I’ll say it: you should rub my back and fuck me like a maiden.”

Geralt let out a barking laugh, bumping his knee against Dandelion’s crotch. “Undress and make yourself comfortable.”

He slipped from the bedroll, leaving Dandelion to strip and sprawl out on his stomach. There was a chill in the air, and although it didn’t bother Geralt, he imagined the poet wouldn’t be pleased if he was left alone and exposed for long. Grabbing oil from his bags, he stepped back to his friend’s side, sitting over his legs and rubbing his hands down his back.

Dandelion practically purred, pressing into the gentle ministrations. “That’s it- oh Geralt you are simply the best at this- I’m telling you-”

His hands moved lower, rubbing across his inflamed backside - still warm and red from the whipping the night before - and Dandelion whimpered.

“Am I hurting you?”

“Yes,” said the bard. “But don’t stop.”

He rubbed his hands over Dandelion’s ass, squeezing the cheeks, then lowered his head, nipping slightly at the junction between thigh and ass.

The bard groaned. “Geralt-”

Geralt grinned, then licked his tongue up the inflamed skin. Dandelion wriggled about beneath him as he licked and bit his way over the poet’s sore ass, grinning at every whimper and whine. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed his tongue inside Dandelion’s hole.

The noise the bard made could only be described as inhuman.

Geralt dug his nails into Dandelion’s ass, pressing his cheeks further apart, his tongue going as deep as it could. The bard writhed and moaned, beyond words, his legs kicking weakly.

Then Geralt pulled out.

“Geralt!” Dandelion spluttered.

He buried his face in the poet’s neck, biting and kissing his shoulder.

With one hand, he opened the oil, drenching Dandelion’s ass and thighs, then pressed his finger against him. When he pressed inside, Dandelion hissed.

“Don’t stop!” the troubadour gasped. “Oh please, Geralt don’t-”

He hadn’t been intending to. He’d seen what Dandelion could get through, and for such a delicate-looking man, he could take a lot of rough handling in bed. Soon he was pressing in a second finger, and Dandelion whined and wiggled under him, gasping and rutting into the bedroll. “Geralt-” he gasped, pressing into his fingers. “That’s enough.”

“Dandelion-“

“Yes, it will hurt, but- ugh!” He tossed his head back, giving Geralt a stern look over his shoulder.

The Witcher hadn’t undressed, so he fumbled with his pants, opening them just enough to access his cock, splashing more oil over himself. Then he lined up against Dandelion’s hole. “Ready?” he asked softly.

“Yes, damn it!”

Dandelion wailed when he was entered, a sound that was tinged with as much pain as it was pleasure. Just to be sure, Geralt wrapped his arm around him, grabbing the troubadour’s cock and stroking him.

“Shhh,” he murmured, not moving as he gave the poet time to adjust.

“Geralt, move or else-” Whatever Dandelion was going to do, he never found out, pulling slowly out, then thrusting back in.

The troubadour sobbed, tossing his head. Tears stained his face, but it was clear from the flush of his cheeks and the hardness in Geralt’s hand that he was enjoying every moment of the pain.

He sat up, pulling Dandelion with him, still speared on his cock. The troubadour whined and pressed against him, then, without prompting, began lifting himself up and down, fucking himself on the Witcher’s cock.

To no one’s surprise, Dandelion finished first, spurting across Geralt’s hand with a cry, then slumping in his arms as the Witcher finished, continuing to thrust into his boneless body until he too, had climaxed.

Then they both tumbled into a heap on the grass beside their bedroll.

Once he could move again, Geralt rolled Dandelion onto his stomach, rubbing his back and carefully checking him for injuries.

“I’m fine,” the bard mumbled. “Please, Geralt, stop fretting and lay with me.”

Geralt obediently stretched out beside him, pulling him into his arms and rubbing his back. 

“Geralt?” Dandelion whispered.

“Yes, Dandelion?”

“You should strap me more often.”

Geralt let out a barking laugh, ruffling Dandelion’s curls. “Perhaps,” he said, pulling the bard closer and letting him curl back up against him. “But not until you’ve rested a while.”

“A few hours?”

“A few days, my dear poet,” he corrected. He leaned back against his saddlebag, closing his eyes. “Any sooner and I may cause you harm.”

“You could never harm me,” argued the troubadour. “I trust you.”

“You forget I’m not human,” Geralt said. “I’m far stronger than you, Dandelion, and could keep going for hours while you cried in pain.”

“What does that matter, Geralt?” Dandelion peered up at him curiously. “You’d stop if I asked, you always do.”

“Because, Dandelion, sometimes I enjoy your laughter far more than your tears.”

“Hmmm. But only sometimes?”

Geralt swatted his backside, electing a groan. “Rest Dandelion,” he said, pulling the blanket back over them. He’d go looking for food in a few hours. With luck, one of the snares he’d set out the day before had caught something, and they could stay in the clearing all day. Otherwise, they would need to head for a town, and the thought of putting Dandelion in a saddle brought him little joy.

But for the time being, he was content to rub the bard’s back and sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always thought of (book) Dandelion as being a dominant personality. If someone’s fucking him (or whipping him) its because that’s exactly what he wants. 
> 
> tl;dr He’s the best at ‘topping from the bottom’


End file.
